midnight hibiscus: old roots, new blooms by the hatchie river
Last night, under the soft Tennessee moonlight, my midnight tryst hibiscus opened its first bloom of the year. The petals, deep and mysterious, reminded me of the gardens my grandmother tended by the Hatchie River decades ago—her hands in the soil, her laughter echoing with the river’s song. Back then, hibiscus meant more than beauty; it was a symbol of family, tradition, and the healing touch of nature.
But today, I see younger neighbors choosing flashy, drought-resistant imports, eager for instant color and less work. They scoff at my old-fashioned hibiscus, calling it impractical for our changing climate. I wonder: are we losing something precious in our rush for convenience? Is the slow magic of nurturing a native bloom being forgotten?
Our community often debates: should we stick to native plants that connect us to our roots, or embrace new hybrids that promise resilience? Some say the old ways waste water, while others argue that these flowers are part of our heritage, and their beauty is worth the effort.
As I stood by my hibiscus, dew on my hands, I felt the weight of both worlds. The river, the flower, and the memory of family—all tangled in the cool night air. Maybe there’s room for both tradition and innovation in our gardens. Or maybe, like the river, we’ll keep flowing, always changing, but never forgetting where we began.
#hibiscusdebate #tennesseegardens #familytraditions #Gardening
